


Oathbreakers

by DayneLand



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Tower of Joy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 09:11:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15748653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayneLand/pseuds/DayneLand
Summary: POV (Dayne) expansion on the confrontation at the Tower of Joy.





	Oathbreakers

The screams I hear are different. These are not screams of men dying but of a woman giving life, not a sound I am used to. I wonder if the child will grow to call me uncle? I think I’d like that. It is a tragedy that they will never know their father. He was a great man, my best friend, and my fiercest competitor. I will never forget you Rhaegar, I swear your child will be safe and will know the man their father was.

It’s been hours sitting here. The sun nears the horizon and in the distance I can see riders coming. He’s come for his sister. I look upon my compatriots, at our “grandeur.” Unshaven and in our field armor, hardly the sight of splendor when we’re at King’s Landing. But this is what we’ve come to. This is the choice we made. We abandoned our Mad King for a better one. We all aspired to be great, like Ser Duncan before us, but we’ve become the Smiling Knight. Will we be forgiven for breaking our oaths? Have we sinned so far that the gods will not forgive us? I guess only time will tell. There are no words between us. Only the screams from the tower, the slight wisp of wind past our ears, and the steady pattern of stone on steel. Ser Gerold was never without his whetstone. No sword in the Seven Kingdoms, that was not Dawn or Valyrian steel, was as sharp as his. I know why I am here, but I wonder what it was that caused Ser Gerold to follow Rhaegar. A man so devout to his oath he never judged the Mad King, never let his personal feelings intrude into his chosen profession. Ser Oswell is just following his orders, he was always a good soldier.

The riders are getting closer. This is the moment before a battle where my heart beats fastest, with anticipation. Ser Oswell has his helmet on, black wings of a bird of the night standing proud as always. I reach for mine. Cradling it with my offhand, I draw my sword leaving it’s sheath behind on the ground. Fearfully, something in my mind tells me I won’t be needing it in the future.

As the Northmen approach, I thrust my sword into the ground, challenging them to a halt. Looking them over, they look strong but unprepared for battle with men of our caliber, tired of this war just as we are. I greet their leader, “Lord Stark.”

“I looked for you on the Trident,” Eddard replies.

“We weren’t there.”

“Woe to the Usurper had we been,” retorts Ser Oswell, I hold my tongue at his brashness. Now is not the time.

Eddard attempts to interogate us, “The Mad King is dead, slain by your sworn brother Ser Jaime. Rhaegar lies beneth the ground. Why weren’t you there to protect them?”

“Had we been, our brother would be burning in Seven Hells right now,” Ser Gerold says, though I feel he lies through a veil of sternness and loyalty. Had he been as loyal as he proposes, would he be here with me?

The chaos of all that has happened flashes through my mind. I wonder now where we went wrong. Had Rhaegar not kept so many things secret, could this war have been avoided?

“The Lords Tyrell and Redwyne bent the knee after I broke their seige on Storm’s End. You should do the same.”

“Our knee’s do not bend easily Lord Stark.”

Ser Gerold adds, “We swore an oath…”

A scream from the tower interupts.

“Where is my sister? Hand her over,” Eddard demands as his men stepped forward, swords drawn.

I close my eyes and lower my head. Looking back up to his stern eyes, “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.” I don my helmet and pull my sword from the ground, holding it upright in front of my chest, covering the Targaryen crest as though it protects the family of my fallen friend. “And now it begins.”

“No…now it ends,” Eddard says defiantly.

A part of me knows he’s right. I know what must happen. This is the end…my end.


End file.
